


Moss-Mead

by Lazytrickster



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazytrickster/pseuds/Lazytrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The annual Moss-mead celebration was due to begin tomorrow, a tradition only Goblins took part in, and Marianne wanted to see what it was all about. Bog isn't so sure how a fairy would handle the strongest mead, pulled out for only this occasion. This goes a bit differently than what you think will happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moss-Mead

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gonna see Strange Magic on Saturday!!! I’m so excited so it’s time to get my ass in gear and write again! The Moss-mead celebration was a holiday that I made and is mentioned in my “Footsies” fanfic here: http://lazytrickster.tumblr.com/post/111953336965/footsies  
> Here we go!
> 
> WARNING: Little bit of swearing and mentions alcohol  
> 

_“No.”_

“But-”

_“No.”_

“Oh, come on Bog-”

_“NO.”_

“Just let me-”

**_“NO!”_ **

 

Marianne pouted, frustrated at Bog King’s stubbornness. The annual Moss-mead celebration was due to begin tomorrow, a tradition only Goblins took part in, and Marianne wanted to see what it was all about.

  
The Bog King, on the other hand, was reluctant to let her join.

  
Not because she was a fairy (Marianne would **_kick his ass_** if she thought that was the reason). He doesn’t believe that for a second she wouldn’t enjoy it, what with the fighting, the mud wrestling (now **_there’s_** an image that needs to be kept safe), and the loud music.

  
Certainly none of that.

  
“Then why not let me come?!”

  
It was the mead.

  
Moss-mead was different from regular Goblin ale. The honey, which was hand picked by professionals (lest the incident of Year 348 of Moss-mead repeat itself)was mixed with fruit and spices and then left to ferment for a year, and then revealed to a court of 10 highly qualified mead taste testers who would judge each mead type and only pick the finest and most potent ones to be taken to the celebration.

  
The stuff was like a bomb for your senses.

  
It affected Bog badly.

  
Hell, even **Brutus** , who out-drinks most goblins by 3 times their limit, gets affected badly with the stuff.

  
_**Goblins have literally died taking it.**_

  
So how would Marianne, who has only taken Goblin ale once and ended up flopped in Bog’s arms and singing about how she was a dragon ( _what._ ) and that he was gonna stay in her keep forever ( _again, **what.**_ ), handle it?

  
“It’s nothing like those fairy drinks you serve at your celebration, Tough Girl.”

  
“So?” Marianne snorted, looking up at Bog, “That hasn’t stopped me before has it?”

  
_“Marianne, you took **one** cup of Goblin ale and you were wasted.”_

  
“I hadn’t eaten much that day.”

  
_“You called me a magic walking tree.”_

  
“Well your exoskeleton does look like bark and you grow a beard made of moss.”

  
“ ** _You told my Mother about the time on the table.”_**

  
“I could have told her about the time in the-”

 

_**“WE DON’T TALK ABOUT IT. THAT NEVER HAPPENED.”** _

  
“Then let me go with you! Or…” And Marianne stared at Bog with that “shit-eating” grin of hers, “I tell Griselda **_everything_**.”

  
…

  
_Shit._

  
_**SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.**_

 

Die of embarrassment from drunk Marianne?

  
Die from embarrassment from Mother knowing about said incident that was not to be spoken of?

  
It didn’t take Bog too long to decide.

  
_“FINE. JUS- JUST ONE TASTE.”_

  
“And?”

  
_“…And one fight.”_

  
“Great! I’ll meet you at the festival tomorrow then!”

  
_“Don’t make me regret this, Tough Girl.”_

* * *

 

To be fair he didn’t regret it.

  
He was also sloshed.

  
And couldn’t feel his left leg.

  
Turns out the mead makers had outdone themselves this year.

  
He had staggered about until he found a place to relax and tried to sit down.

  
Tried being the operative word, since he ended up falling on his ass onto the floor. He liked the floor though, so it was okay.

  
He has no idea where Marianne is.

 

He doesn't remember much of anything at this point, except that he feels good.

  
Like… real good.

  
What was he thinking about again?

  
Larry Bran?

  
Barry Flan?

  
Ari-Manne?

  
Wait a sec!

  
**Marianne!**

  
Oh his wonderful, sweet, badass Marianne.

  
_His Tough Girl._

  
He misses her. Where is she?

  
_When will she return from the war?_

  
Wait, there is no war…

  
But there is the floor.

  
Which has went from one to four.

  
So, more than before…

  
As Bog begins to go off into his own world trying to think of more words that would rhyme with floor, he feels someone tap his right shoulder.

  
“Bog?”

  
It was Marianne.

  
_“Marrrriiiiaaaannnnee! Ye came bac frm the waaaaarrrrrrrrrr!!!!”_

  
“Uh, Bog?”

  
_“I knew youuu’d come bac, cuse ah lov ye and ma lov brought ye bac to me! Cuse yer ma tough grrrrllll who is like the floor.”_

  
“The floor.”

  
_“Yesh!”_

  
“Why the floor?”

  
_“Cuse, yer tough, and yer stable and now there’s four ah ye!”_

  
“How much did you have to drink?”

  
Bog stopped for a second.

  
And thought.

  
And thought some more.

  
And he puzzled and puzzled ‘till his puzzler was sore.

  
He looked up at Marianne _(how is she so tall?)_ and replied,

  
_“I…had 10.”_

  
“You had ten drinks.”

  
_“Ten millllion drrrinks.”_

  
“Bog you would be dead if you had that much.”

  
**_“TEN MILLLLIIIIIIOOOONNN DRINKSS!”_**

  
“Right. I’m not gonna argue with you big guy, let’s get you home.”

  
_“Okie dokieeeee- waaaaiiiit,”_ he faltered, staring at Marianne in confusion, “ _How com yer no tiiiiipssssyyyy??”_

  
“Bog it has been three days since the celebration ended. There has been a search party **looking** for you. _**You’re lying in a ditch**_.”

  
_“…Oh.”_

  
“Come on, Boggy, let’s get you home and into bed.”

  
_“Will ye stay wi’ me instead of goin’ bac to th’ war?”_

  
“…Sure. I won’t go to the war. Which doesn’t exist.”

  
_“Yaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy. I loooooov yooooouuuu.”_

  
“…This is who I have chosen to fall in love with.”

**Author's Note:**

> Song Reference:  
> “Forever” - Shrek the musical sung by Alan Mingo, Jr. & Carrie Compere (Was listening to it so yeah :D)  
> Also reference to the joke: “When will my love return from the war?”  
> And the grinch.  
> *EDIT* So due to me doing this late at night I forgot to mention that bearded Bog was mentioned due to reading this post: http://humanityinahandbag.tumblr.com/tagged/bearded-Boggy  
> If I’ve forgotten anything else, tell me, or I’ll look at this again after work and see :D


End file.
